


Kind of a Genius

by NeverwinterThistle



Category: Deus Ex: Mankind Divided
Genre: First Meetings, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 15:13:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8166400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverwinterThistle/pseuds/NeverwinterThistle
Summary: “You coming or what?” Koller calls from the second floor. “If you’re good, I’m pretty sure I have candy I can give you. Or a Praxis kit, your choice. I am all about that customer satisfaction.”





	

“We have this guy,” Vega says. Her eyes flick Adam’s way, then back to the street in front of them, cobbles still slick from last night’s rain. At her side, her hands clench and relax. “He might be what you’re looking for. Maybe.”

“I’m excited already,” Adam says. Sarcasm to cover up disappointment; should have known better than to expect miracles from a hacker group. He’s getting complacent.

Vega gives a grunt, unimpressed. “Yeah, yeah, Mister High End Sarif tech. Look, you asked for an aug doctor in Prague. That’s not a wide pool to fish from to start off with. Add to that, we want someone who can keep their mouth shut, and I’m guessing you’d prefer someone already vetted by Juggernaut.”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“I wouldn’t call it _trouble_ ,” Vega says. At her side, she worries at a cuticle with her thumb nail. “Like I said, we have a guy. I’ve sent people his way myself, once or twice. When shit hit the fan and we couldn’t evac them to somewhere a little friendlier. Never met him in person but from what I hear… he’s an experience.”

“You’re really filling me with confidence,” Adam says. He sidesteps a puddle with oiled-joint grace, and a passing businessman shoots him a horrified look. Bug-eyed, fist tightening on his briefcase. Inching away: not going to pick a fight. Adam shuts him out. “What’s this guy’s problem? Back-alley hack, lost his licence for operating under the influence? Teen shut-in who taught himself everything off YouTube and the darknet?”

“Oh no. No, Koller’s definitely competent. Just…not the most professional person you’ll ever meet.”

“Jesus, Alex, I don’t need him to show up to the clinic in a three piece suit and tie.”

“ _Clinic_ ,” Vega says with a humourless laugh. “Good one.”

Behind the sunglasses, Adam closes his eyes for a second. “Tell me he has a clinic.”

“He calls it his dungeon,” she says, and she’s still not looking at him. Shifty, too focused on the neon shop signs as they pass. The avoidance does nothing to settle Adam’s nerves. “Not the kind you’re thinking, so don’t get too excited.”

“What a shame,” Adam says, deadpan.

“He’s got the equipment, at least. And a chair. He’s pretty proud of that one.”

“That’s a gold star to him, then.”

“I’m really sorry, Jensen,” Vega says. Finally, she turns to look at him. Expression is genuinely regretful; for all her talents, she can’t lie worth a damn. Worrying at her tattered cuticles. “It’s not that he can’t do his job, you know? Just, he’s really temperamental. Works to his own clock. We mostly get him to do shit for us with a nice combination of bribery and scare tactics. If you want him for long-term care-”

“It’s looking like I might be in Prague for a while, yeah,” Adam says. “Might be nice to have a doctor I can go to when things get serious. These sunglasses won’t un-jam themselves.”

“I hear you,” she says with a sigh. “Like I said, bribery and scare tactics. Juggernaut will supply the bribery, so you don’t have to worry about paying him. The stuff we can smuggle in is worth a hell of a lot more than your credits to an underground aug doctor.”

“So you need me to supply the scare tactics,” Adam surmises. “Because there’s nothing more reliable than a doctor you _threaten_ into treating you.”

“Hey, it works. Koller’s pretty efficient when he’s scared for his own skin.”

“In my experience, scared people just make mistakes.”

“Not Koller,” Vega says. “You’ll see what I mean.”

“Everyone makes mistakes.”

“So does he. Pretty sure most of his wardrobe is a mistake, to start off with, and don’t you _dare_ let him invite you out to lunch. But he knows his augs. He’s kind of a genius like that. All you have to do is keep him cooperative.”

“Looking forward to it,” Adam says flatly.

Vega comes to a halt in front of a glass window, peering at the goods. Adam stops a few feet away. Glances up and down the street; quiet part of town, sidewalk lined with directionless stragglers and shabby academics. A beggar in a sheltered corner. Adam looks away from the dull metal fingers on pleading display. Not a place to stop in. The décor reminds him depressingly of home.

“Looking for some light reading?” he asks, glancing into the window display that has Vega so transfixed. It’s a rarity, a relic: mismatched literature in artistic disarray, Shakespeare and Homer and _La Divina Commedia,_ actual print on paper. Beyond that, an empty shop. The guy leaning on the counter inside is as incongruous as a bookstore in a modern city: punk rock kid, black hair curling wild all over his forehead. A student, maybe. Working a part time job he couldn’t care less about. Adam shuts him out and turns back to Vega. “I didn’t take you for a book person.”

“I’m not,” she says distractedly. “Turning pages, getting ink all over my fingers- no thanks. It’s like nails on a blackboard. Totally outdated, but the _idea_ still gives me the creeps.”

“You’re missing out.”

“Old fashioned kind of guy, huh?” She turns away from the window to smile at him. Inclines her head towards the entrance. “Lucky. You and Koller have something in common already.”

“This isn’t a clinic.”

“You’re feeling observant today.” Vega shoves the front door open and enters, the _closed_ sign swinging sadly in her wake. “Let’s just get this over with, okay? I’m way too exposed out here. I’ll make the introductions, verify your Juggernaut cred, and after that you’re on your own. Try not to screw it up; if you don’t want to use the Taskforce doctor, this guy is pretty much your only option. Come on.”

Adam steps into musty air and old wood, high ceilings, velvet carpet sinking under his boots. He has to take a few seconds to get his bearings. To remember where, and _when_ he is. For the first time, he registers the name of the shop.

It’s apt, he’ll give it that. He feels like he just teleported several centuries back in time.

At the desk, the clerk doesn’t look up from whatever he’s hunched over. There’s a pen in one of his hands; maybe he writes poetry. He’s in the right place for it. “We’re closed,” he says absently. “I thought I told Kamil to put the sign up, but maybe that was…Yesterday. Or last week. Whatever. Get out of my store, man, I’m pretty fucking busy right now.”

_Your store?_ Adam mouths, but the kid isn’t looking to see it. Vega doesn’t linger; she marches up to the counter and yanks the pen out of his hand.

Screwdriver, Adam corrects himself. The small, delicate kind, the kind he’d use for watchmaking, or-

“What the hell?” The kid- _wrong again,_ Adam thinks, _late twenties, but scrawny, doesn’t eat when he should. Doesn’t see much sun either. Insomniac, with those eyes. Or maybe he’s just high as a kite. Maybe it’s part of his look; grunge-genius, clank-artiste._ The man makes a grab for his screwdriver, one-handed. The other hand sits perfectly still on the counter. Adam catches a glimpse of delicate wiring, the palm plating stripped off and discarded. He winces; can’t help himself. It’s like seeing someone flayed.

“First of all, not cool,” the man informs Vega. He makes another futile snatch at the screwdriver, hampered by the dead weight of his immobile arm. “You’re trespassing, and the police might not give a fuck, but from one clank to another this is just- not okay, okay? Second, give me that. If I do not get this wiring hooked up in the next few minutes I’m risking permanent paralysis. Don’t wreck my day. Nobody wants to be that guy.”

“I’m not a guy,” Vega says, unimpressed. “And I warned you we were coming. You promised you’d be professional about this.”

“I see what you’re saying, and I absolutely agree,” the man says. “But I got delivery from China, literally an hour ago, and this Tai Yong circuitry’s been on my wish list forever. What was I supposed to do, _wait?_ ”

“That would have been the smart thing, yeah.”

“It was calling to me.”

“Well, I called first,” Vega snaps. “And if you _want_ to keep getting deliveries from China, you should consider putting the client’s needs first. Juggernaut gets you the goods. You work for _us_.”

Adam keeps himself in the background. He can understand Vega’s tension; knows she’s on several Most Wanted lists at any given time, and every extra minute she spends in the same place might end up being a minute too long. He’s lucky she agreed to set this meeting up. Lucky she didn’t just toss him an address and tell him to sort himself out. Aug maintenance should be the Taskforce’s job. It’s his own paranoia that drove him to look for extra support from Juggernaut instead.

Paranoia, and pride. The Taskforce doesn’t have an augmented doctor on their payroll. And hell will freeze over before Adam strips down and bares his metal to someone who doesn’t _get_ it- and probably doesn’t want to.

He sizes up the underground aug doctor. Could be stuck with him for months; maybe upwards of a year, if the unrest in Europe keeps getting worse. This scruffy man in his punk rock patches and studs, ill-fitting jeans. The immobile metal arm on the counter in front of him. It’s painted; black, red and silver, wannabe tough guy who never outgrew his teen rebellion. Wannabe underground street racer who can’t afford a car to soup up. Paints himself instead.

_There’s no way this is going to work out,_ Adam thinks.

The man glances over Vega’s shoulder. Meets Adam's eyes. His smile is tentative, bordering on shy; it falters when Adam doesn’t respond. Finally, he looks away.

“I’ll be with you in a moment,” he mutters in the direction of his countertop. “Just- I’m really gonna need that screwdriver back now. Time’s ticking. Can’t be your friendly neighbourhood aug doctor if I’m semi-paralyzed, you know?”

He looks kicked. Wilted, maybe worried Vega’s going to take his damn screwdriver outside and drop it down a drain. Her expression suggests she might be considering it. The silence stretches out.

Adam caves in first. “Hand it over, Vega. Nobody wins if we cripple him.”

“I like you,” the scruffy man says. He has the audacity to smile at Adam again. “I don’t know who you are, scary sunglasses man, but you are already my favourite.”

“Nice to see you boys getting along,” Vega says irritably. “Since you’re going to be stuck with each other. Here. Sort yourself out, idiot, and don’t screw things up for us again. Juggernaut can take its business elsewhere if it has to.”

_Liar,_ Adam thinks; he could almost swear he spots derision flicker in the aug doctor’s eyes, a brief smirk in the corner of his mouth. There isn’t anyone else. They all know it. The rest are dead, disappeared, or banished to Golem City.

“Absolutely,” their doctor says, and then he’s submissive again, eyes on the counter as Vega gives him back his screwdriver. “Won’t- won’t happen again, I promise. From now on, I’m totally professional.”

“Better be.”

_Better fucking be,_ Adam echoes silently.

He disengages for the five minutes it takes the repair job. Drifts around the nearby shelves, curious, and then grudgingly impressed; reaching out to run his fingers over spines and titles. The books are pleasingly organised, the shelving system immaculate. The store itself is nowhere near as derelict as first appearances suggest. There’s some real love gone into creating this plush anachronism. It’s the kind of place Adam might actually come back to in his down time, if it’s usually as quiet as he suspects. He’s itching to get a look at the history section, the biographies, maybe some of that classic literature in the window display.

“Get a move on, Koller,” Vega says. Adam spares her a glance: she leans on the counter, eyes darting all over the store. Counting exits, he’d bet. She’s be well supplied. The windows are all large enough to climb through, the second floor is low enough to jump from. Several doors lead to side rooms. The store is practically a maze. It’s as safe as anywhere else in Prague, and safer than a lot of places. Small mercies.

“You can’t rush this kind of wire work,” Koller tells her. “It’s like- it’s an art form, you know? You can’t stand over an artist and tell him to paint faster. Or, maybe you can. But you wouldn’t get a good picture at the end of it, and then the artist would be pissed off at you and disappointed with himself. Nobody wins like that. Good things are gonna take time.”

“Time isn’t something I have right now. _Move_ it.”

Adam casts his eyes around for something to distract Vega from her not unjustifiable paranoia. As it turns out, he’s standing right in front of it.

For the first time that day, Adam finds himself almost tempted to laugh. “Koller,” he says, the name sitting unfamiliar on his tongue.

“Yeah, man, what’s up?”

“Did you know someone’s shelved _Origin of the Species_ in the Fiction section?”

“What, seriously?” Koller says. “Weird. Normally it’s the damn atheists shoving religious texts over there. Guess some righteous fucker decided he couldn’t turn the other cheek any more. You maybe want to go put it back where it belongs?”

“It’s _your_ shop.”

“Technically it’s my _front,_ you know? But I see your point. It’s cool.  You go back to being distant and intimidating, I will fix poor Darwin up later. It’s not like he’s standing over me trying to rush an extremely delicate procedure. Which, by the way, I have just finished. Ta-da!” Koller raises his hands, fingers flexing. _All sorted, no harm done_ , his grin says. _Look at the cool thing I just did. Good, right?_

“Good of you to join us,” Adam says.

“Now he’s done reassembling himself, I’m out of here,” Vega announces. “Jensen. This is Koller. Koller, if you have any sense in that messed up head of yours, you’ll forget what my face looks like. You won’t be seeing me again anyway. Send Jensen’s bills to Juggernaut the usual way, we’ll cover any work he needs.”

_Don’t leave me alone with the weirdo_ , Adam doesn’t say, though he wants to. He’s also sorely tempted by, _Forget it, I’m leaving too. I’ll take my chances with the Taskforce doctors before I let this guy near me._ He’s looking for the words, but Vega isn’t waiting; she stalks to the door, tugging it open. Melting into invisibility without a goodbye, and isn’t that just like her.

He’s annoyed. With himself, mostly, which makes a nice change from the usual. Annoyed that he likes the store; annoyed that, dubious aesthetic aside, he finds himself inclined to at least tolerate his new doctor. Maybe not like him, not yet- but Adam knows himself, and he knows his own penchant for taking in strays. Liabilities. He doesn’t need another complication in his life.

Koller is watching him. Adam watches back, noncommittal under his sunglasses, his jaw muscles tight. He’s abruptly uncomfortable with the way he’s being looked at; eyed up, like a zoo exhibit. All the meek deference in Koller’s stance seems to have marched out the door in Vega’s wake. Underneath is something bright and unpredictable, skittering over Adam’s visible augs like red-rimmed electricity.

“So this is friendly,” Koller says, when Adam doesn’t do it for him. “Jensen, right? Always good to meet new people, and I won’t even ask if that’s your real name or anything. Me, I go by whatever the customer likes best. Doc, Koller, Václav- good luck spelling that, by the way. Or pronouncing it right. It’s cool, I don’t judge. I even got some people who just call me _V_ , if it makes you more comfortable. Or we can save first name terms for when we’re a little…closer. That’s okay too.”

“Let’s just keep this professional.”

“Sure,” Koller tells him, abruptly far too cheerful. “Let’s see you maintain the stoic tough-guy thing when I got my hands all up inside your sensitive wiring.” He steps out from behind his counter, and it takes every fragment of control Adam can muster to keep himself from backing away.

_The fuck is wrong with you?_ he chides himself. _Getting too damn jumpy these days._

He stands his ground as Koller advances until he’s close enough to peer at the detailing on the edges of Adam’s sunglasses.

The man is several inches shorter, bouncing on the tips of his scuffed red sneakers. Wound up like a spring. He raises a hand and actually taps at one of the lenses on Adam’s sunglasses, twitching back as Adam jerks in surprise.

“Oh, come on, you big baby,” Koller says. “That didn’t hurt. Man, you think you’ve seen every fucking thing, and then some guy comes in with sunglasses mounted on his skull. What are they, portable HUD? You retract them when you sleep, right? You’d better. Gotta give the system a break sometimes, you know?”

Adam blinks behind the sunglasses in question, thrown by the sudden strictness in Koller’s tone. “Yeah, I retract them. They’re not comfortable to sleep in.”

“Good, good. I’d also advise against keeping them deployed when you’re reading small text. Eye strain isn’t just limited to the normals.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Okay,” Koller says. He reaches out for Adam’s sunglasses again, tapping against the frame. This time, Adam keeps still. “You gonna retract them now or what? Give me a chance to gaze into those lovely augmented eyes of yours. Here, you know what, sit, take a load off. It’s no fun for me if I have to keep craning my neck to see you, giraffe man. Chair, chair, chair- I know I got one around here, but where did I…oh, yeah!”

He’s a whirlwind. A hurricane, wildly unpredictable, and every time Adam thinks he’s got the man pinned down, he twists away and changes direction. He tugs a wooden chair out from a corner and all but pushes Adam into it, and not once does he stop talking as he does-

“Gonna need you to lose the coat; our impatient mutual friend said both arms replaced up to the shoulder, yeah? Plus chest plating, bone-mounted supports, an actual _Icarus_ , the works. She also mentioned some scary fucking military enhancements, and that shit might look cool in a fight, but it also needs regular maintenance to keep it running smoothly. It’s temperamental.”

“I don’t generally have any problems.” Adam shrugs off his coat. He makes the mistake of trying to hand it to Koller, who looks at the coat like he’s never seen one before, and then tosses it aside. The coat hits the floor in a sad, expensive pile. Adam bites back a sigh and retracts his sunglasses to glare at an unconcerned Koller. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Oh yeah,” Koller says. He stands over Adam, rubbing his hands together. “Show me that sweet, sweet Sarif tech. This has to be some of the most advanced product I’ve seen outside of pictures on the ‘net. Shit, man. Are these little ports what I think they are? Tell me you didn’t just waltz into my store packing a fucking _Typhoon system_.”

“I didn’t waltz,” Adam retorts. “I walked, like a normal person.”

“Way to avoid the question.”

“You’re the aug expert. What do you think?”

“I think,” Koller says slowly, “That I am _dying_ to get my hands all over you.”

It’s unnerving, the abrupt jumping between enthusiastic professionalism and borderline flirtation; worse still, Adam can’t tell if Koller even knows he’s doing it. Might be he doesn’t hear half the things that come out of his mouth. Maybe the innuendo is imaginary, the crooked smile just his default expression. He’s impossible to read.

Adam considers trying his luck with a social enhancer; abandons the idea a half second later, as Koller lifts his left wrist in reverent fingers and starts feeling his way around the joint work. Whatever the CASIE has to say about this man, Adam’s not sure he wants to know.

Worse, he’s not sure it would work. A CASIE can be cheated, with training or sheer unpredictability. He wouldn’t put it past Koller to laugh the damn thing off.

“You have beautiful wrists,” Koller says absently. He leans in, turning Adam’s hand this way and that, his grin widening as it whirs in response. Adam breathes deep and resists the urge to yank his hand back. No one does this. The Sarif Industries techs, the LIMB doctors, they didn’t feel the need to touch him like a mechanical Martian. “I’m serious, man, this is gorgeous work. High end Sarif tech really had the market cornered in aesthetics, back in the day. Nobody else ever managed the same kind of wow factor. I hope you’re proud, Mister Jensen. You’re like a walking art exhibit. I could look at you all day.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”

“Sure, sure. I guess that would be awkward, huh?” Koller gives Adam’s wrist a last turn and drops it, reaching for the other one. There’s nothing clinical about his touch; more appreciative than careful. And it’s strange. God, it’s strange to be touched like this. “Maintenance seems fine, I can’t feel any stiffness, the rotation is super smooth. No cracks in the surface plating. I’m gonna need to check your fingers and elbow joints too, because the amount of wear and tear on those is unbelievable. Knees are just as bad. Any chance you’ll let me take a look at them?”

“Not on the first date,” Adam says, inwardly surprised by how wry it comes out. He can feel himself being won over, though slowly; can’t work out exactly what it is about Koller that settles his livewire nerves, but there’s definitely something there. An element of honesty, maybe. A sense that, however scrambled his brains might be, he does genuinely want to help.

“You’re killing me here,” Koller informs him. “You have, hands down, some of the most amazing augs I have ever- and you won’t even let me see them all? That’s harsh, man. Don’t hold out on your doctor.”

“What kind of doctor runs a clinic in the middle of a bookstore?” Adam retorts. He’s not totally sold yet, and that’s a relief- but he’s feeling like he will be. Not on the first visit; probably by the third, if not the second. Vega’s going to think he’s lost his mind. He’s not too sure about that himself.

Koller gives him a blank look. Then, abruptly, laughs. His hair falls into his eyes in wild curls

“Yeah, I hear you,” he says, shoving a distracted hand through his hair. It doesn’t help much. “Got super excited over the shiny new tech- I mean, _Typhoon aug?_ What the _fuck_? And I…kind of forgot. It happens. Bookstore, not the best place for checkups. Sorry, man.”

“So you _have_ a clinic?”

“I do, you’re gonna love it. _I_ love it. I put a lot of work into that place, it is the coolest thing you’ll ever see. Promise.”

_We’re going to have a talk about this, Vega_ , Adam thinks as Koller drops his wrist and steps back to a slightly more comfortable distance. _What the hell have you gotten me into?_ Still, he stands, accepting his rumpled coat as Koller passes it over with a bright smile. It’s only slightly dusty.

“Come see my work space,” Koller says. He twitches a finger, _follow_ , and heads for the staircase to the second floor. He doesn’t look to see if Adam’s with him; takes the stairs two at a time like a kid of Christmas morning. “My friend, I think it’s time you got acquainted with the _chair_.”

There’s a fucking metal plate wedged into the back of his skull, the base disappearing into his collar. Cranial augs mean serious business; require serious upkeep. Adam’s never seen one so utterly exposed. Or so obviously complex.

_He’s kind of a genius_ , he remembers Vega mentioning.

Fucking insane is looking more likely. Totally cracked, probably addicted. Augs instead of drugs; it doesn’t make much difference.

But he does sound like he knows what he’s doing. Lacks the ill-hidden disgust Adam expects from his Taskforce doctors, and there’s an element of professionalism in the way he talks augs that suggests he’s capable. Even if that professionalism veers too close to appreciation. Even if he looks at Adam like an exciting new puzzle to unpick.

Hell, maybe Adam’s the problem here. He can’t remember the last time he was appreciated for anything unrelated to work. Nobody looks at his beetle-black augs and calls them _gorgeous_. Maybe he needs to calm down and relearn how to take a compliment.

“You coming or what?” Koller calls from the second floor. “If you’re good, I’m pretty sure I have candy I can give you. Or a Praxis kit, your choice. I am all about that customer satisfaction.”

Adam can feel the moment feigned ambivalence gives way to genuine liking. He’s always had a soft spot for people who aren’t afraid to tease him.

Against his better judgement, he follows.

**Author's Note:**

> I might continue this, I'm not sure yet. I kind of like the idea that Jensen and Koller met through Juggernaut, and then Koller got headhunted by the Dvali and mistakenly thought a crime connection would give him more independence/a better shot at getting his hands on some of the rarer equipment on the market.
> 
> There really is a copy of _Origin of the Species_ in the Fiction section. I almost wonder if Koller put it there himself, just to provoke a reaction.


End file.
